


does it feel good?

by noelroeimfisher



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-12 21:19:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2125041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noelroeimfisher/pseuds/noelroeimfisher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(i posted this on tumblr ages ago but i forgot to put it here)</p>
<p>inspired by a scene in hoje eu quero voltar sozinho // the way he looks (◡‿◡✿)</p>
<p>sometime during s1/s2 probably</p>
            </blockquote>





	does it feel good?

Fuck.  It should not be this difficult to ignore a stupid sweatshirt on the floor.  Mickey thought turning the lights out might help.  He thought curling his body away from it, cramming himself into the wall, and scrunching his eyes real tight might help.  None of it was helping though, not even at all.  The thought of  _doing something_ about it just wouldn’t leave.  But not because he cared about the guy or whatever; this was about getting some fucking sleep, and nothing else.  Nothing weird.  Just.  How do you sleep when something so  _Ian_ is so nearby?

Mickey considered his options.  He could leave the sweatshirt where it was, lonely on the floor.  It could stay there.  It could stay there all night and he could stop acting like it mattered.  He had to admit it was nice to think about Gallagher’s clothing mingling with his own, and maybe one day they’d lose track of which articles of clothing belonged to who because it was all mixed up so often.  That could never happen though, could it?

He could move the sweatshirt to Mandy’s room.  That’s probably safer anyways; it would be less suspicious if someone found it in Mandy’s room.  Would he be able to let go of it once he picked it up?

Maybe he could just…touch it for a minute?  Mickey scrunched his eyes shut even tighter at that thought, because why was touching it a thing he wanted to do?  Maybe he could check to see if it smells like Ian.  Does Ian’s clothing have as much difficulty forgetting Ian’s scent as Mickey does?  It would be silly to have it sitting right  _there_  and not know how it smells, right?  Impractical, even, with all the sleep that would be lost if he stayed up wondering about it. 

And then what if he likes it?  What if it’s comforting?  Is that okay?  Isn’t that pathetic or some shit?  Or is it more pathetic to sit here pining for it?  Or is it more pathetic that he can still picture Gallagher peeling it off a few hours ago in a hurry to have his skin against Mickey’s?  Since when did anyone want to feel Mickey’s skin?  What the fuck, Gallagher.

And what if he wore it?  He’d have to fold the sleeves up because goddamn if that asshole wasn’t a fucking giant.  Would it feel good to have Ian’s warmth wrapped around him?  Would it feel like it does when Ian’s fucking him and his body just  _envelops_  Mickey’s?  Would it feel safe like that?  Or would it feel scary?  To be dependent on that type of warmth, isn’t that a weakness?  To be unable to sleep without it?  Seems scary.

Fuck that sweatshirt.  Fuck Gallagher for leaving that shit there, for putting Mickey in this position.  Probably did it on purpose, too, just to mess with him.  Mickey grabbed his phone from the nightstand to reprimand the younger boy.

 

M:   _u left ur thing here u dick_

I:     _…my thing?_

M:   _ur sweatshirt thing_

I:     _ok?_

M:   _u shouldn’t leave ur shit here someone could see it_

I:     _u want to wear it don’t u_

…

I:     _mick_   _u can put it on_

…

I:     _it’s ok if u wanna put it on_

M:   _fuck off_

I:     _;)_

M:   _do not wink at me_

I:     _;) ;)_

M:   _shut up_

 

Mickey rolled his eyes and held up a middle finger to the phone for good measure, trying to ignore the slight ache in his jaw from too much smiling.  Because fuck Gallagher for somehow understanding that “fuck off” meant “i’m thinking about putting it on and touching myself.”  And fuck him for thinking that was an okay thought, for encouraging it even.

Whatever, Mickey didn’t need anyone’s permission to do what he wants, least of all Gallagher’s.  He likes what he likes, big deal.  Mickey took a deep breath and removed his tank top before venturing over to the edge of the bed to pick up the sweatshirt.  If he was gonna wear the fuckin’ thing, it might as well touch his skin, or else what’s the point? 

He settled back into the bed, this time on his back, away from the wall.  He tried to stop himself from zipping it up and pulling the hood up over his head, but he did it anyway.  He didn’t think that wearing it should feel so much like safety.  Fuck this thing was soft.  He pressed the fabric into his face, feeling it against his lips and inhaling the scent.  It definitely smelled like the redhead, so at least now he had an answer to that question.  That’s probably all he needed anyway.  Just an answer to that question and now he had it.  Yes, it smells like Gallagher.  Time to sleep.

He thought about taking it off, now that he had no use for it anymore.  Now that he knew it felt soft and safe and smelled like Ian, he could take it off.  But there was something satisfying about this feeling, even if he wasn’t quite sure what, and even if it was a little scary too. 

Mickey took a chance and slowly unzipped the sweatshirt, getting chills for a moment as the cool zipper brushed against his skin.  With one hand pressing the soft hood into his face, the other roamed down the length of his torso, just feeling his own skin and the muscles he was so proud of.  The muscles that for some reason he wanted Gallagher to notice.  The muscles Gallagher  _had_  noticed and said “Damn, Mick” and Mickey said to “Fuck off” because what else are you supposed to say? 

Mickey didn’t usually take the time to feel himself like this.  Usually getting straight to the point was a lot easier, gave him a lot less time to think about stupid freckly redheaded boys with names that begin with I.  But this was different.  Better?  This was being enveloped in the redhead’s scent and feeling safe enough to touch himself however he liked.  This was brushing his fingertips across his own nipples, this was feeling what it’s like to gently pinch them, this was inching his way down his chest and belly, this was reaching into his boxers to touch himself in a way he’d scoff at if Gallagher had tried it, this was taking his cock into his hand  _slowly_ , actually feeling what it’s like to touch all the different parts of himself, finding all those spots that really make his breath shorten. 

Mickey took his hand from the hood and sucked on a finger before sliding it down his body to press at his hole, biting down on the hood to muffle his whimpering.  Slowly pressing inside, he allowed himself to really  _feel_ it.  He could go straight for that sweet spot like he usually did, and it would all be over much sooner.  But this time he explored all the different sensations, pressing in and out shallowly, pulling out to just rub a circle around his hole every so often, curling his finger in all different directions to see how everything felt. 

Finally he was pressing in deeper, right against that spot that he had no trouble finding anymore, the one that made him think maybe it was okay to like it, because it felt so fucking good and fuck anyone who couldn’t understand that.  And fuck anyone who couldn’t understand that the person in his head in that moment was a boy.  He had nearly forgotten about his cock, but as he got closer and closer to the edge, he continued stroking it slowly.  For probably the first time, he used his fingers rather than his fist to touch himself gently, focusing on those spots that he just discovered were the most sensitive. 

And soon he was coming, and it was so intense but not so sudden, because he had felt the slow build up, felt like he was nearly there for the longest time, and he was just coming and coming and he didn’t stop feeling himself until he was shaking from sensitivity.  His phone buzzed again and he wanted to be angry that Gallagher would make Mickey think about him in that powerfully vulnerable moment, but he couldn’t deny that he had already been thinking of him anyway.  Couldn’t get images of the boy out of his head, or the feeling of him off his skin.

He took a few moments to let his breathing return to normal, wondering what it would be like to let Gallagher touch him that way.  It was one thing to allow himself to be comforted by Gallagher’s scent and such gentle touches, but it was scary to think about allowing Gallagher to see that.  He slowly stood up, removing his boxers and cleaning himself off with them before slipping into some clean ones.  He returned to the bed and grabbed his phone, checking to see what stupid thing the boy had said this time.

 

I:  _does it feel good?_

…

I:  _?_

M:  _maybe_

I:  _good night, mick_

M:  _gn asshole_

 

And maybe it did feel good.  Maybe it didn’t have to be scary.  Maybe some people like this feeling and maybe Mickey is one of those people.  Maybe he could create a world for himself where he’s allowed to have what he wants.  He zipped the sweatshirt back up again, savoring the tightness of it around his body, and never slept more calmly.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: noelroeimfisher


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